


SUGAR SWEETS

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Edge of Smut, M/M, Mech/Mech, Spark-play, Suggestive Themes, Tactile, some Dominant-Submissive play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrior sugar-sweets.  An intimate moment between Tailgate and Cyclonus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SUGAR SWEETS

A white finger traces slowly across lavender thighs.  A tensing shiver follows after the light touch.  The buzz of a displeased EM field pushes against the larger frame laid out on the berth.

“Stillness.”

A hesitation.  A shiver.  “Yes.”

A pleased rumble from a delicate engine sounds.  The finger slips into a loose knee joint and sensitive cables are plucked.  A free hand is laid fully on the inner thigh that shivers despite the best efforts of the larger mech to be still.  Back and forth the plate is rubbed in heavy strokes.  Specialized sensors heat leaving marks to punish the disruptive shiver.  A harder press to the knee joint earns the efforts a static spiral.  The smaller engine echoes higher in harmony to the static.  The EM field that pushes against the trembling frame is both pleased and displeased.

“A pause then, sugar-sweet.”

“Ta—ate.”  The berth shakes with the highly displeased growl.

A blue optical band flashes as Tailgate’s optic nerves become excited with the headiness of ordering the warrior to stillness and pause.  “Yes, Cyclonus.”  Red optics narrow in empty threat before closing as the pointed helm is set against the berth.  “Besides,” Tailgate shifts upward to pet the air lightly above the sensor rich waist as the bio-lights dance and jump.  “I’ve got something for you.”  The timber of the light voice drops as teasing amusement enters it.

Tailgate scampers off the berth to retrieve the package he had abandoned by the door when he had stumbled upon a peacefully recharging Cyclonus.  It was always a rare treat for the mini-bot to get the jump on the seasoned warrior.  He pads over to door and glances over his shoulder to see Cyclonus not-watching watching him.  The other’s field dances with the desire to fling the smaller bot against a hard surface and snap the connection into place letting the charge cascade into an overload to destroy their processors and the desire to remain still enough to receive the reward of what was in the box.

“Curious, sugar-sweet?”  A high-teasing tone meets a static huff.  With optical nerves still bright with giddy excitement, his own field fills with lust as Cyclonus narrows in on the brightness.  He has repeatedly refused to bare his optics to the warrior, knowing that it both irritates and excites.

“Something else you want?”  Tailgate has come back over to the berth.  He sets the box on the edge.  “You know what I want in exchange.”   A dangerous growl.  A small shoulder shrugs.  “Have it your way.”

Tapping in his personal code, the longed-for box pops open with a hiss.  The mini-bot makes himself at home next to Cyclonus’ waist.  He begins to pluck out several soft objects.  The warrior shivers in anticipation even as he tries to tamp down viciously on his arousal.  The clack of metal and glass teases against his audios before he lays sight on the beads in the little demon’s grip.  A chuckle meets the rev of the engine.

“The beads it is then.”

The metal and glass conduct a small charge as they are rolled by small hands.  Tailgate’s delicate engine sets a steady pulse thrum-base as he shifts his hip to come into contact with Cyclonus’ waist.  The bio-lights dance and pulse in tune to that heady harmonic as red optics focus on the beads that dance with light.  Tailgate doesn’t even attempt to conceal his mirth as he feels an infra-red scan flick over himself and what he is holding.  He keeps the thrum of his engine steady even as lust smacks into him from Cyclonus.  His fingertips begin to glow as he adds more heat to the conductive material in the beads.

Allowing a small tendril to escape his grasp, he whispers the end over abdominal plating.  He tickles out a random pattern as the plating jumps with the pulse of the bio-lights.  Tailgate ignores Cyclonus’ misbehavior in place of listening to the pleasing pitch of static and warbles from the big warrior’s vocalizer.

Tailgate allows a longer trail to escape his clutches as he teases the string along a heaving chest.  The mini-bot celebrates quietly in victory as the bigger mech’s control final slips and the interfacing port and connecter cable slips free.  Disregarding all caution, he slips the heated string about the port before laying one hand flat against Cyclonus’ chest over his spark, where he rolls the beads teasingly over the invisible seam.  Tailgate reaches for the cable and yanks on it with a sharp tug.  Static and pleading warbles are his reward before he moves his fingers to the beginnings of the cable. 

Keeping his heat conductors off, he strokes slowly along the length.  He tilts his head at the warbled plea to connect and finally clicks his mask open.  His wry grin a nasty pleased devil on his face.  He nips and licks after the soft caress of his fingers.  He pauses in this only periodically to roll the conductive beads against lavender chest plates and flash gleaming optics behind his optical band at red optics that begin to fritz and glitch.

No longer able to resist, Cyclonus cycles his chest plates open and bares his pulsing spark to his tormentor.  Tailgate intakes sharply before snapping away his optical band for Cyclonus’ pleasure as repayment.  The mini-bot dives for the spark, glossa lapping eagerly at the sporadic flares that jump forth.  A steel heat encapsulates the end connectors as the glossa ghosts over the outer-gel of the spark.  Cyclonus arches in pain and pleasure as his processor is driven into darkness.  A heavy EM field slams over his last fading senses before the world falls into static white.

-0-

Cyclonus shifts on the berth with a soft shiver.  A secondary charge is already sluggishly moving through his systems at the touch that feathers over his plating.  He tries to shift upward, but a small hand on his chest stops him.  He settles back and allows his systems to slowly boot so there are no errors.  Nothing less would do if this was to be like all the other times.  His own fingers pet at the ankle near his hand.  A giggle reaches his audios as they boot up.

Tailgate smooths the cleaning cloth against the charge marks that mar the lavender plating.  “Sugar-sweet.”  It is meant as a soft chastisement as those clawed fingers try to tease his calf plates.  The mini-bot sweeps over the possession marks on the larger mech’s inner thighs.  A static gasp.  A pleading warble.  A barely contained shiver.  Tailgate’s blue optics meet Cyclonus’ in teasing mischief.  He bows his head to kiss where lavender and silver plates meet.  He remains there as Cyclonus rides out a second overload that descends in slow wave and dances enticingly through his systems.  The warrior’s own buzzing electro-magnetic field pulls his partner down into the darkening spiral with a cherished sigh.


End file.
